It was rumored in camp one day that the superintendent and commandant were both absent from the post, and that the senior tactical officer was therefore acting superintendent. A plebe sentinel on Post No. 1, seeing him approaching camp, and not knowing under the circumstances how to act, or rather, perhaps, I should say, not knowing whether the report was true or not, called a corporal, and asked if he should salute this officer with "present arms." To this question that dignitary replied with righteous horror, "Salute him with present arms! No, sir! You stand at attention, and when he gets on your post shout, 'Hosannah to the supe!'
This rather startled the plebe, who found himself more confused than ever. When it was about time for the sentinel to do something the corporal told him what to do, and returned to the guard tents. The officer was at the time the commanding officer of the camp.
While walking down Sixth Avenue, New York, with a young lady, on a beautiful Sabbath afternoon in the summer of 1875, I was paid a high compliment by an old colored soldier. He had lost one leg and had been otherwise maimed for life in the great struggle of 1861-65 for the preservation of the Union. As soon as he saw me approaching he moved to the outside of the pavement and assumed as well as possible the position of the soldier. When I was about six paces from him he brought his crutch to the position of "present arms," in a soldierly manner, in salute to me. I raised my cap as I passed, endeavoring to be as polite as possible, both in return for his salute and because of his age. He took the position of "carry arms," saying as he did so, "That's right! that's right! Makes me glad to see it."We passed on, while he, too, resumed his course, ejaculating something about "good-breeding," etc., all of which we did not hear.
Upon inquiry I learned, as stated, that he had served in the Federal army. He had given his time and energy, even at the risk of his life, to his country. He had lost one limb, and been maimed otherwise for life. Iconsidered the salute for that reason a greater honor.
During the summer of 1873 a number of cadets, who were on furlough, visited Mammoth Cave. While there they noticed on the wall, written in pencil, the name of an officer who was an instructor in Spanish at West Point.
One of them took occasion to add to the inscription the following bit of information:
"Known at the U. S. Military Academy as the 'Spanish Inquisition.'"A number of cadets accosted a plebe, who had just reported in May, 1874, and the following conversation ensued:
"Well, mister, what's your name?"
"John Walden."
"Sir!" yelled rather than spoken.
"John Walden."
"Well, sir, I want to see you put a 'sir' on it,"with another yell.
"Sir John Walden," was the unconcerned rejoinder.
Now it was not expected that the "sir" would be put before the name after the manner of a title, but this impenetrable plebe put it there, and in so solemn and "don't-care" a manner that the cadets turned away in a roar of laughter.
Ever afterward he was known in the corps as "Sir John."Another incident, even more laughable perhaps than the preceding, occurred between a cadet and plebe, which doubtless saved the plebe from further hazing.
Approaching him with a look of utter contempt on his face, the cadet asked him:
"Well, thing, what's your name?"
"Wilreni, sir," meekly responded he.
"Wilreni, sir!" repeated the cadet slowly, and bowing his head he seemed for a moment buried in profoundest thought. Suddenly brightening up, he rejoined in the most unconcerned manner possible: "Oh! yes, yes, Iremember now. You are Will Reni, the son of old man Bill Reni," put particular stress on "Will" and "Bill."I think, though, the most laughable incident that has come under my notice was that of a certain plebe who made himself famous for gourmandizing.
Each night throughout the summer encampment, the guard is supplied from the mess hall with an abundance of sandwiches. The old cadets rarely eat them, but to the plebes, as yet unaccustomed to guard duty, they are quite a treat.
On one occasion when the sandwiches were unusually well prepared, and therefore unusually inviting, it was desirable to preserve them till late in the night, till after the guard had been turned out and inspected by the officer of the day. They were accordingly--to conceal them from the plebes--transferred, with the vessel containing them, to one of the chests of a caisson of the light battery, just in front of camp in park. Here they were supposed to be safe. But alas for such safety! At an hour not far advanced into the night, two plebes, led by an unerring instinctiveness, discovered the hiding-place of the sandwiches and devoured them all.
Now when the hour of feasting was come, a corporal was dispatched for the dainty dish, when, lo, and behold!
it had vanished. The plebes--for who else could thus have secretly devoured them--were brought to account and the guilty ones discovered. They were severely censured in that contemptuous manner in which only a cadet, an upper classman, can censure a plebe, and threatened with hazing and all sorts of unpleasantness.
Next morning they were called forth and marched ingloriously to the presence of the commandant.
Upon learning the object of the visit he turned to the chief criminal--the finder of the sandwiches --and asked him, "Why did you eat all the sandwiches, Mr. S--?""I didn't eat them all up, sir. I ate only fifteen,"was his ready reply.
The gravity of the occasion, coupled with the enormity of the feast, was too much, and the commandant turned away his head to conceal the laughter he could not withhold. The plebe himself was rather short and fleshy, and the picture of mirth. Indeed to see him walking even along the company street was enough to call forth laughter either at him as he waddled along or at the humorous remarks the act called forth from onlooking cadets.
